The Savior of Seattle

by Nat Kozinn

  “Neither. The army put us together,” David said. “They blocked off the area around our neighborhood, so she couldn’t get back to find me. As for myself, I was unconscious. I had burst through all my clothes and was lying naked in the street. The army guys found me, and I guess it didn’t take them too long to figure out I was the one who had stopped the bomb. And since I was lying out in front of my house and that was right on the line between destruction and safety, they were able to at least guess at who I was. Nobody knew what to do with me after they found me. The government was worried I’d eventually release all the energy I stored up and I’d be just as dangerous as the bomb. They actually put me on a navy cruiser and sailed two hundred miles off the coast to make sure I didn’t blow up the city while they ran tests on me. Somebody found my mom, and they put it all together. They brought her out to the boat to see me. It wasn’t the result of a humanitarian spirit. They wanted to see if she could wake me up. I was still out cold.

  “I don’t know if it had anything to do with her, but after two weeks, I just woke up. The best explanation the scientists could come up with was that my brain had to get used to my new body. Anyway, they tested me on the boat for another week to make sure I wasn’t going to go nuclear. Then we sailed back to town and they whisked me away to the forests in Montana where I could really figure out my new body.

  “I didn’t know it at the time, but that’s when things started to fall apart for my mom. She was alone all day in a barely staffed army base while I was out knocking over mountains and tossing around giant trees like they were toothpicks. I didn’t really think about what happened to Carter. I was too busy learning how to be some sort of mythical creature. It was just the opposite for my mom. She had nothing but time. I went to go see her one day and a doctor met me outside her room and said she was resting and wasn’t feeling well enough to have visitors. Then the next day they told me she needed help and they sent her to a clinic to give her treatment. I don’t think they hid the fact that it was a mental institution from me, but they didn’t make a point of it either. And I was only fifteen at the time, so I wasn’t really putting it all together. Anyway, it made sense she’d have a little trouble coping. She lost one son, and her other son became something that wasn’t quite human anymore. I figured they’d get her some help and then she’d be all better. Like if she broke her leg or something. I was just a kid.

  “They let her out after a few months, though it was not like she was cured. Maybe they just let her out because there weren’t many resources to keep psychiatric facilities going while the world fell apart. Whatever the reason, I was hardly around enough to pay attention even if I had been mature enough to understand the situation. The government set her up well. She had a nice apartment, which they kept her in, rent-free, even after Seattle became the Metro Area. And they gave her a stipend that was more than she could ask for, not that there was much to buy with it besides food, and she wasn’t eating much of that anyway. I think the government just paid for her so I wouldn’t ask to get paid. And it worked. My mom was taken care of, and they gave me a stereo with a huge collection of cassette tapes. Teenage me wouldn’t have known what to do with more money.

  “I made a point to see her every few days. I’d tell her all I was doing and she’d tell me she was so proud of me. Then I left. I spent almost three months in Minneapolis helping get their water system going. When I came back, they told me she was back in the hospital. I went to see her there, and it was like I was seeing a ghost. She weighed about as much as a sheet of paper and was just as pale. They had her so drugged up she could barely recognize me, and she wouldn’t make any sense if she tried to say more than a couple words at a time. I remember thinking it was weird that she was still having problems, but I figured she just needed to do what the doctor said. I was a little older but still just a kid, and if I’m honest with myself, I liked thinking about all the awesome projects I was working on, not my sick mom and dead brother. I thought she just needed something to do.

  “So I talked to my army liaison, and when she was feeling better, they set her up with a job at a school. She wasn’t a full-on teacher, but she helped watch the kids at lunch and recess and stuff. She even started tutoring a little bit. It worked for good long while—almost eight years. I traveled around the country helping get the Metro Areas going, and she worked with the kids. I came home for Sunday dinner as often as I could, and we would talk about what she was doing and what I was doing and what was going on in the world—never the past at all. That was until, one day, I was out building the Intercontinental Rail and my army liaison ran out to me while I was in the middle of pounding down Maceo Steel foundation beams. There had been an incident at my mom’s school back in Seattle. She had started screaming at the children that they were all going to burn and she told them all to hide under the desks. She had to be dragged out from under her desk by the police, and she was placed on an involuntary hold in a psychiatric facility.

  “It turns out things had not been as hunky-dory as I thought. During some of those months I didn’t come home, she had checked herself into a psychiatric facility—voluntarily of course, so they didn’t have to tell me. Not like when they dragged her out of the school. Anyway, as you might imagine, that little outburst ended her career in education.

  “That was back in ’97 by then. After that, she just kept deteriorating. She’d spend half her time in mental institutions and the other half staring out the window, her brains fried by the cocktail of psychiatric drugs they put her on. The only time she perked up was when I’d come visit her. They said it was the only time she was alive. In 2000, I demanded they allow me to just work in Seattle. I was still strong, but not the powerhouse I was—more like a high-end Strong-Man—so it wasn’t like they could argue I was vital to the whole country anymore, so they agreed. I spent a few years doing construction on Metro Area-funded projects: helped expand the port, laid lots of Slug lines. And every night I went home and had dinner with my mom. Well, she had dinner and I sat there and talked to her. It helped. She came back to life. She was excited to talk about my day and what I was doing for the Metro Area. It was once her city after all. She even started tutoring a bit again, but I wouldn’t say things ever returned to normal. She’d ask about Carter sometimes, or my father, or some store she used to go to, and I’d have to remind her that everything had changed.

  “In 2005, I retired, which meant the government stopped footing the money for her psychiatric bill. Obviously, that wasn’t a problem for a while. When I had the money from my award, she received top-notch care. But once I lost all that, I couldn’t afford such fine accommodations. I had to sell her apartment to pay for her treatment. Meanwhile, things were getting worse and worse. She started talking about the past more than she would talk about the present. She stopped using think.Net altogether and would always ask why her food tasted so strange. She forgot about Manna. By 2009, she couldn’t really take care of herself anymore, so she had to transfer to a full-time care facility. I used what money I had to get her set up. She’s been through a few facilities since then, each one worse and worse. This last one actually isn’t so bad. The furnishings are a little sparse and the building is ugly as all hell, but they seem to really care about the patients, which is something.”

  “Okay, well we’re caught up to the present,” Alexis said. “But you didn’t address the lead question and you know what it is. Why don’t you see her anymore? I understand it might not seem like she’s getting much out of it, but they say, even with Alzheimer’s, they can remember the emotion, if not the events,” Alexis said.

  “The emotion is just what the problem is. A couple years back, she couldn’t remember what had happened to me at all, so when she saw my face on this giant body, she flipped out. Started screaming bloody murder until they sedated her. Hell, I guess I should have been happy. The time before that, she thought I was Carter for some reason. That was fun trying to explain.”

  “Hmm,” Alexis said and tapped
her pen.

  “Hmm what?”

  “Well, it just seems to me that your mom freaked out and started screaming several times in your story, and while I wouldn’t say you were a fan, it didn’t seem like a deal-breaker. Now, that last thing you mentioned—that seems like the truth.”

  “Oh, is that your journalistic instinct talking?” David said mockingly.

  “No, that’s just common sense. Listen, I’m not one to tell you that you have to talk to your parents. I didn’t see my dad for the last two years of his life and I don’t feel a tinge of guilt for that. But you should at least be honest with yourself. You aren’t staying away for your mother’s good; she’ll forget anything bad that happens twenty minutes later. You’re staying away because you don’t want to have to explain what happened to Carter. It’s the same reason Carter is the one topic that’s off limits. You don’t want to have to face it yourself.”

  David looked straight down at the floor. “I think I’ve given you what you asked for. Now please leave.”

  11

  David balanced a wooden pew precariously on his back, struggling to keep control of the ten feet of polished wood as he walked up the stairs of the church. At the top of the stairs, he hoisted the bench onto his left arm and used his right to open the door. It started to slip from his grasp, but he was able to catch it on his hip.

  “Pew pew,” he said as he walked into the church rectory, firing his finger as a mock ray gun, playing it cool.

  Luckily, no one heard David’s ill-conceived attempt at a joke. They were all too busy. The church room was abuzz with a dozen individuals banging away with hammers or scrubbing away at graffiti. Mario stood at the top of a ladder, making large strokes with a paintbrush to cover up a foul word written in spray paint. David put down the pew, carefully, and walked over to Sister Berta, who had her face buried in a book. Her reading glasses hung low on her nose.

  “Where’d you get all the muscle?” David said.

  Sister Berta looked up from her page filled with numbers.

  “Turns out we may actually still have a little bit of a community out here. I wouldn’t have guessed it. My thinking is it took some pleading from the neighborhood grandmothers, but that’s how it’s supposed to work. The important part is that we’ve got some help. It’s going to make a difference, too. Might have saved us enough money to keep this place going. The church at least. The kitchen is going to be tougher.”

  “How long has Mario been here?” David asked and nodded toward the boy, who had just about covered up the graffiti he was painting over.

  “Only since nine o’clock this morning. And he was here yesterday, too. Looks like the young man has taken to your tutelage.”

  “I’m not sure what I said to inspire the turnaround. I wish I did. There are about a million more kids that could stand to hear it.”

  “It wasn’t anything you said. It was what you did; you showed you cared. Most of the kids out here are lucky if their own mothers worry about them. Anyone else showing the slightest interest in them is pretty life-changing.”

  “I guess it’s time for me to head over there and blow it,” David said and started toward Mario.

  “All things are possible through Christ,” Sister Berta said with a smile.

  David walked slowly to minimize the sound from his massive feet pounding on the wooden floor. He came up behind the ladder on which Mario stood and placed his hands on it.

  “You shouldn’t be working without a spotter. It isn’t safe,” David said.

  “Oh hey, Savior. I’m almost done. Give me a second,” Mario said.

  Mario worked slowly and carefully, taking long swipes with his brushes and ensuring a thick coat of white paint to cover the offending language. Mario took a second to inspect his work, dabbed a spot a tad more for completeness, and then climbed down the ladder.

  “I thought you were done serving your sentence. Did I tell you to meet me here?” David asked, though he knew full well he had said no such thing.

  “Nah, I’m here on my own. I heard what happened, and I mean, it was just messed up. There’s lots a places you can screw with, but a church? And it wasn’t enough to just steal the cross; they gotta wreck up the place? That’s just messed up.”

  “Is there any particular reason why you might feel a personal calling?” David said, his words heavy with implication.

  “Yeah, I didn’t tell you when we were here working on all this stuff before, but my grandma used to come to the church,” Mario said, throwing David for a loop. “Back when she was around, she made me come here most Sundays when I was coming up. I hated it. One day, I screamed and yelled and wouldn’t stop, and she had to run me out of here. I was just a little kid, so I didn’t see what the big deal was, but looking back, I think I broke her heart. Now, don’t get me wrong, this church stuff still ain’t for me, but that doesn’t mean somebody should come mess this place up. People get something from it; it’s not right for somebody else to take that away. I know if my grandma was still alive, seeing this would break her heart more than what I did, and if she could see me now, and maybe she can, I think she’d be smiling.”

  Something must have gotten into Mario’s eyes, as they were watering. He turned away to hide the sight.

  “I hear that grandmas were the source of a lot of inspiration in this room. That’s very sweet, Mario. I think you’re right; she would be proud, but that wasn’t the personal connection I was referring to. I was trying to imply that your Clown friends might have been the ones who did this.”

  “Oh yeah, they probably did. I know Big H is desperate to get his hands on some cash. He wants the Hood Clowns to join up with the 49ers. Those boys are for real. They don’t want to mess around with no small timers, so Big H had to show them some real cash. I just can’t believe he’d do it to the church, man. Some things have got to be off limits.”

  “I’m not sure it worked. I think they’re still broke. But that’s an awful lot of details you have there. How do you know all that? You haven’t been hanging out with your old friends again, have you?”

  “No, man, everybody knows it. It’s all over the streets.”

  “I’m not sure which streets these are, because I’m pretty sure you and I walk the same ones.”

  “Nah, we don’t, Savior. We don’t,” Mario said, shaking his head.

  ◆◆◆

  “Okay, on three. One… two… three… lift!” David said.

  With that, Mario, Scales, Linden, and David hoisted up a massive wooden frame that went around a statue of the Virgin Mary that sat atop a pedestal. The frame was beautiful with brilliant sheen. Those four were the only people left in the church besides Sister Berta, who watched from the newly installed pews.

  “Alright, it’s up. Great work!” David said.

  “Oh, Savior, you’re clowning. We all know you did most of the lifting,” Scales said and punched David’s arm.

  “In that case, you should do your part. Go hold the ladder for Mario while he fastens it at the top. Say, how’s that basketball league coming?” David asked.

  Scales didn’t answer. He just put his head down and went over to the ladder, where he and Linden held it in place while Mario climbed to the top with a hammer and nails. David walked over to Sister Berta.

  “It’s a beautiful piece,” David said.

  “Isn’t it, though? It’s not real wood. It’s Pho-Plastic. Shhhh,” Sister Berta said and put a finger to her lips.

  “Really? It felt like the real thing. That’s amazing.”

  “It was a gift from one of our few wealthy patrons; he was generous, but only so generous. Still, this place is going to end up looking better than it did before those punks wrecked it up. We better hope the word doesn’t get out. We aren’t the only church around here that could use a sprucing up. Don’t think Sister Nelson over at Saint Engel’s isn’t above spray painting her own rectory. Much graver sins have been committed in the name of the Lord.”

  “I’m just glad the
neighborhood chipped in. Sometimes it seems like everybody only remembers you exist when you’re running the food line. Nice to see a little gratitude and appreciation even if it took a group of punks acting like morons to bring us all together.”

  “Speaking of the food line, there’s something I want to run by you, and I want to preface it by saying if the answer is no, you can tell me. I mean it; this isn’t your usual sister trying to shame you into doing the right thing. You’ve already done so much for us. I hesitate to ask you for more, but you’re the only option I’ve got.”

  “Okay okay, spit it out already,” David pleaded.

  “There’s this restaurant over on Clancy: Alfonso’s. I’m not sure if you know it, what with the not eating, but the owner, Mr. Abate, has been running the place for years, since before the Plagues. He’s been a loyal member of the congregation for even longer. Not that it is going to save his restaurant. He fell behind on his rent, and his taxes, and everything else, so he’s going to have to declare bankruptcy. He still has a tank full of pure Manna, enough to fuel us up for more than a year of Sundays. Now he can’t just give it to us—he’d end up in jail and the courts would take back the Manna—but he can sell it to us on the cheap. On the very cheap. Like we could get a year’s worth at a fifth of the price we usually pay. Buying the Manna would end up saving us a ton of money. But we don’t have the cash on hand to make it happen.”

  “How much we talking?”

  “Ten thousand,” Sister Berta said with a cringe. “I know, I know. It’s a lot, but I’m not asking for another donation here. It would be a loan. I insist. We usually use the money from tithings and donations to buy the Manna as we go, so instead we can pay you that money. We’ll save up a ton even after we pay you back. So it’s just a short-term loan and it will let us get the emergency fund back out of the red.”

  “I’ll have to look into it. I’m pretty well tapped,” David said and rubbed his face. “It’s not like I can really loan you money, Sister Berta. That wouldn’t be very Christian of me.”